


Are They or Aren't They?

by PsychGirl (snycock)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Multi, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/pseuds/PsychGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Major Crimes crew orients the new guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are They or Aren't They?

## Are They or Aren't They?

#### by PsychGirl

Author's website: <http://snycock.livejournal.com>  
  
Written for Sentinel Thursday on LJ - prompt was "precinct". Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.  
Can be read as slash or gen. You decide - are they or aren't they?  
This story is a sequel to:

* * *

"You can put your stuff on this desk for now, Rogers," Henri Brown motioned to the empty desk next to his. "When Simon gets in we'll see about getting you assigned to something more permanent." He watched the beefy detective drop the cardboard box heavily on the top of the desk.

"Didn't think Banks was the sort to slack off while his people had their noses to the grindstone."

"Naw, it's not like that, man," Brown said, laughing and raising a hand in protest. "The Captain's a great guy, very straight shooter. But he had to accompany Chief Warren to a breakfast meeting with the Mayor and the Commissioner this morning, so he won't be in until later."

The other man grunted and nodded. Brown gave him the once-over with a practiced eye. Frank Rogers, 10-year veteran of Homicide, newly transferred to Major Crime. Dark slacks, plain white dress shirt, conservative blue-and-gray striped tie. Old dress shoes, well-polished. His worn suit jacket was thrown casually over the box. Brown smiled to himself. Didn't look like Dolensky was going to lose his title of "Best Dressed Detective" anytime soon.

"So, this is Taggart's desk, here; and Connor's, over there, and then Dolensky's," Brown continued his tour of the Major Crimes bullpen. "The Captain's office, and Ellison's and Sandburg's desks are over there." He saw Rogers' eyes narrow slightly as he nodded. "But now for the really important stuff, man...let me show you where the coffee is."

He led Rogers into the break room, pointing out the cups, creamer and sugar, and other supplies. "And here's the best thing," he said, shaking the small packet enticingly, "sugar-free hot cocoa." Rogers didn't seem particularly impressed as he grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee. "Contributions to the coffee kitty are due to Rhonda by the 5th." God, he hoped this guy turned out to have more personality once he'd settled in. He finished making his cocoa and motioned Rogers out of the break room and back into the bullpen.

Brown could hear Ellison and Sandburg talking as he and Rogers walked back into the room. "Listen, Jim," Sandburg was saying, "if you'd just take a look at it with...you know...you might find something the technicians missed."

"Sandburg," the other man replied, digging in one of his desk drawers, "not right now."

"But, Jim..."

Ellison straightened up and grasped Sandburg's shoulders. "Chief, I'll take a look at it, I promise...just not right now. I've got to get down to the morgue. And I really need you to take that down to Serena and get it analyzed." He gestured to a videotape cassette in Sandburg's hands.

"Okay, okay...just don't forget, huh?"

Ellison patted Sandburg's cheek lightly. "I won't, Chief. Second thing on my list, I promise. Now, get moving, okay?" Sandburg sighed but nodded, turned, and left the bullpen.

"Jim!" Brown called out. Ellison looked up and Brown motioned him over. He pulled something out of his desk drawer and jogged over to the two men.

"What's up, H?" Ellison asked.

"Jim, this is Frank Rogers, just transferred to Major Crimes from Homicide. Frank Rogers, Jim Ellison."

Ellison put his hand out, brow furrowed. "Hey, weren't you involved in that city-wide Gang Violence Task Force a few years ago?"

"Yeah," Rogers said shortly, shaking Ellison's hand perfunctorily.

Ellison gave Rogers a sharp look. "Well, that was good work," he said coolly. "Welcome to Major Crimes." He looked over at Brown. "Gotta run, H. See you later." He turned and headed out of the bullpen.

"Later, Jim," Brown called after Ellison's retreating back.

"So, it's true, then?" Rogers asked, his tone flat.

Brown turned to look at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, man?"

"What everyone's saying about those two. Sandburg and Ellison. That they're a couple."

Brown nearly choked on his cocoa. "Aw, no way, man, you have got to be kidding me. Hairboy, yeah, I can see how you'd get that impression...but Ellison?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, really, Hairboy's all right. He may look a little weird, but he's got serious stones. And he's been a good influence on Ellison - you don't want to know what that man was like before Sandburg became his partner. But trust me, they're just friends."

"Whatever you say." Rogers didn't sound convinced.

"Listen, man, I've been on stakeout all night...I am going home and hitting the sack." He spied Connor entering the bullpen. "Let me introduce you to our visiting detective from Down Under. She can show you around some more. Hey, Megan!" He waved at Connor and she came over to the two men.

"Morning, H. Who's the new guy?"

"This is Frank Rogers - just transferred in from Homicide."

"Pleased to meet you." Megan shook the other man's hand politely, and Brown noticed that she had at least two inches on him.

"Listen, Connor, I'm off duty...can you show Rogers here around until Simon gets back from his meeting?"

"Sure, mate, no problem."

"Thanks, Connor." Brown patted her on the shoulder. He grabbed his coat and left the bullpen, still shaking his head. Ellison and Sandburg...honestly.

* * *

"...so when I realized Bruenell had come to Cascade, I got myself transferred over here through the officer exchange program so I could...." Megan trailed off. It wasn't bad enough that this git kept staring at her chest instead of looking her in the eyes, but now he wasn't even pretending to listen to her. He was looking over at the entrance to the bullpen. She followed his gaze and saw Blair walking slowly across the bullpen towards his desk, absorbed in reading a file. "Sandy!" she called out.

Blair's head snapped up and he smiled and walked towards them. "Hey, Megan."

"Morning, Sandy. Where's your partner?"

"He's down in the morgue, watching Dan do the autopsy on our latest case."

"Not your cup of tea, eh?"

Blair shuddered. "Nah. Not this early in the day, thanks...pretty much not any time, actually."

Megan became aware that Rogers was staring at Blair with a strange, fixed look. "Oh, I'm sorry. Rude of me, not to introduce you. Sandy, this is Frank Rogers. He just transferred in from Homicide."

"Nice to meet you," Blair replied, sticking his hand out with an affable smile, "Blair Sandburg. Welcome to Major Crimes."

Rogers stared straight at Blair, a cold expression on his face, and pointedly ignored the hand he was holding out. "I know who you are," he hissed. "Ellison's little pet. I've heard all about _you_."

Megan saw the color drain from Blair's face as he took a half-step backwards, smile fading, his eyes wide with shock. "Hey, man," he said, his hands coming up between them as if to ward the guy off, "that's so not cool..."

"Is there a problem here?" And suddenly Ellison was there, standing right behind Blair, eyes fixed on Rogers, his presence massive and intimidating.

Rogers dropped his gaze to the floor. "No problem," he said sullenly.

"Good. Because my partner and I" - and Megan was sure that Rogers didn't miss the emphasis on _my partner_ \- "need to go interview some witnesses." Blair was glaring at Rogers, still pale and thin-lipped but with anger clearly replacing shock. Jim put a hand gently on his shoulder and turned him towards the elevators. "C'mon, Chief, let's go."

Once they were out of earshot, Megan turned to Rogers, hands on her hips. "What the hell was that all about, if you don't mind my asking?"

Rogers looked up at her with disgust on his face and in his voice. "Flaunting it like that, with that long hair and those earrings. Everyone knows about it, everyone knows why Ellison keeps him around. But it's just wrong, if you ask me. And someone should do something about it."

Megan gaped at him for a moment, astonished by the man's brazen prejudice. "Listen, mate, let me give you a bit of advice. You do not want to be on Ellison's bad side, trust me. And harassing Sandy is one of the fastest ways to get there. So, if I were you, I'd leave it alone."

Rogers shrugged and looked away from her.

"Fine, then. Don't say I didn't warn you." She gave Rogers a cold look. "I've got work to do. If you have any questions, ask Dolensky over there." She stalked back to her own desk and sat down, shaking her head and muttering to herself under her breath. Why couldn't people separate work and private life? So what if Jim and Sandy were lovers? It seemed to be working fine for them, and it didn't affect anyone here...so why was it anyone's business but theirs?

* * *

Rafe carried the two cups of coffee over, setting one down on the desk just as the new guy looked up. "Hi, you must be our new transfer in from Homicide." He stuck his hand out. "I'm Rafe Dolensky."

"Frank Rogers," the guy replied, shaking his hand in a firm grip.

"Well, welcome, Frank. Thought you could use a fresh cup. Mind if I sit down?" he said, motioning to the chair at the side of Rogers' desk.

"Not at all. And thanks for the coffee."

Rafe sat and took a sip from his own cup. "Don't mention it." He looked Rogers over with a critical eye. "So, how's the first day going?"

"Not bad, not bad."

"Good." Rafe took another sip of coffee. "Heard you had a little run-in with Ellison." Rogers looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Rafe leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "Look, not everyone around here thinks Ellison is the Big Man on Campus. Me, personally, I think he throws his weight around a little too much. Like this deal with Sandburg - do you know he's been following Ellison around for over three years? That's way longer than any other civilian observer."

"You don't say?" Rogers' voice was noncommittal, but his eyes held Rafe's eagerly.

"Yeah. And it's not like the kid's that much of a help, you know? Frankly, I think he's mouthy and arrogant. Always talking like he's smarter than anyone here, always trying to impress people with how much he knows." He leaned in closer to Rogers, dropped his voice another notch. "Of course, everyone knows why Ellison keeps him around." He nodded and winked at Rogers.

"It's sickening, is what it is," Rogers said in a low, venomous voice, all traces of pretense gone. "It's just wrong. Why doesn't someone go to Banks, get him to do something about it?"

"Oh, don't think they haven't tried, my friend. But Banks and Ellison are tight. It'll require real, irrefutable, concrete proof to force Banks' hand. But rest assured, there are people working on it." He put a hand on Rogers' shoulder. "Look, my friend, I've got to get back to work. But you need anything, you have any questions, whatever, you come and find me, okay?" He gave the man's shoulder a quick squeeze and stood.

"Thanks, Dolensky. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rafe raised his coffee cup in a salute. "Pleasure's all mine, Frank." He turned and sauntered back to his desk, a satisfied smile on his face.

* * *

Simon heard the soft knock and raised his head to see Taggart peering around his door. "Simon, you got a minute?" Taggart asked.

"Sure, Joel," he replied. He glanced up at his clock. Nearly seven pm. "You're working late tonight."

"Yeah." Taggart came in, closing the door after him, and settled into one of the chairs facing Simon's desk. Simon pulled the carafe out of the coffee maker and wordlessly offered him coffee, but Taggart shook his head. "No, thanks, Simon. If I drink that now I'll be up all night."

Simon smiled and replaced the carafe. "So, what's up, Joel?"

"You know that new guy that transferred in from Homicide, Frank Rogers?"

"Uh huh..." He already didn't like the sound of this.

Taggart sighed. "Simon, I just don't think he's going to work out."

Simon groaned in exasperation. "Joel, this is the third guy in as many months who's tried to transfer in. I can't keep rejecting all these transfers. You were outside Major Crimes once, you know how it is. It's a quid pro quo world out there."

"I know, Simon."

"I mean, if I keep rejecting these transfers, the other divisions will get resentful of us, and that could potentially spell trouble for our guys when they're in the field, to say nothing of completely screwing up any attempts at inter-division cooperation..."

"I _know_ , Simon, I know, but..." Taggart glanced out into the bullpen.

Simon followed his gaze. Sandburg was sitting at Jim's desk, typing furiously at the keyboard. Jim was standing behind him, leaning over him, eyes intent on the screen, one arm braced on the desk, the other on the back of Sandburg's chair. As he watched, Sandburg pointed triumphantly to something on the screen, and Jim turned his head and gave the kid a fond smile. He exhaled heavily. "So, it's those two again, huh?"

"Simon, I just don't think Rogers is going to be able to tolerate the unique relationship between Jim and Blair."

Simon looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. "The kid write that for you, Joel?"

"Simon, you know as well as I do that Blair has been the best thing to happen to Jim in...well, since Jack, certainly. You remember what he was like, before Blair showed up. Sullen, distant, abrasive; as like to bite your head off as say good morning. Now he smiles, he greets people in the hallways, he gives people compliments. Not to mention that he's got the highest closure rate in the city - the _entire_ city, Simon - and he's won Cop of The Year three years running. Do you really want to mess around with that?"

"No," he admitted grudgingly. He glanced out at the pair again. Sandburg was laughing, stabbing his finger insistently at the monitor screen. Jim was straightening up, shaking his head and laughing as well. He grabbed their coats from the tree next to his desk and handed Sandburg's to him as he rose from his seat. As they headed out of the bullpen, Jim tousled the brown curly head lightly and then slung his arm around Sandburg's shoulders, pulling him close to his side. Simon sighed. "Okay, Joel," he said, "I'll start the paperwork tomorrow."

"Thanks, Simon," Taggart said as he rose and headed for the door.

"Hey, Joel," Taggart stopped and looked back at him expectantly. "What do you think? Are they or aren't they?"

Taggart smiled. "Simon, does it really matter?"

"No," Simon said, with a rueful grin, "I guess it doesn't."

* * *

End

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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